


Gaslight Blues

by Darci



Category: The Marvelous Mrs. Maisel (TV)
Genre: Canon gay character??, Explicitly gay character, F/F, Friendship, Gen, Non-Graphic Smut, Platonic Bed Sharing, Susie swears and uses a slur
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-08
Updated: 2019-01-08
Packaged: 2019-10-06 22:07:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,250
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17353508
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Darci/pseuds/Darci
Summary: Police raid the Gaslight Cafe, Susie contemplates love, and Midge learns more about the world around her.





	Gaslight Blues

**Author's Note:**

> WARNING: Susie uses a slur here, but she uses it to describe herself and it’s not meant to be derogatory. 
> 
> I’m not sure if Susie’s Jewish or not, so for this I went with she’s ethnically Jewish and maybe grew up Jewish but now doesn’t practice and isn’t involved in the community.
> 
> On an interesting side note, the real Gaslight Café opened in 1958, which is the same year Marvelous Mrs. Maisel starts. I know police raids in gay bars/clubs tend to be associated more with the 1960s but they did happen in the 50s as well.

Midge isn't there when they show up, and Susie's not big into God but she sends up a quick prayer of thanks as she slips out the back door. Police are yelling behind her, tables cracking as they're overturned and glasses shattering. There'll be a hell of a mess for her and Jackie to clean up later. Things have been pretty quiet lately so Susie supposed she should have been suspicious. Can't have too much if a good thing.

 

She's been through raids before and damned if they're going to catch her now. She'd be so _easy_ to catch, with her short hair and cap and pants. One look and they'd know, those morality police. Fuck ‘em. She's always been sharp, and as soon as the front doors fly open she _knows_ , and she quickly, quietly, backs into the shadows of the bar, ducks down, and shuffles toward the back door. It would be braver to stay, more noble, but she's gotta look out for number one. Anyway, she's never been a crusader.

  
But where to go now? The Gaslight is home in more ways than one, and her apartment is currently housing a far-too-cheerful Italian family. Somehow that sounds worse to her than being alone, more lonely. And it's not that Susie's _lonely_ , not really. She holds people at arm’s length but she'll let ‘em in if she needs to. Like she did with Hilda. She thinks of the raid, wonders if Hilda's okay. It's none of her business, really, and she doesn't have any way to get in touch but it can't hurt to wonder.

 

Hilda had been before Midge. Hilda had been different from Midge, because Midge is just a friend and that's fine by Susie, she's content to take what she can get. Hilda had been sitting at the bar in the Gaslight, sporting big black hair and big black eyes. Susie's always been good at spotting fakers— that's part of how she knew Midge was the real deal— and she'd seen that the woman at the bar was all secrets. But then she had noticed that the woman's eyes kept sliding back to her, and when she'd handed her a drink the woman's pinky finger had brushed her hand and stayed for just a moment too long. Secret's out. Susie's never been subtle, and that night it had _worked_ for her. Maybe some back-alley heavy petting wasn't the pinnacle of romance but sometimes you want people even though you don't need them, and Hilda was beautiful curves and sultry eyes, and so few people look at Susie. Not like that, anyway.

 

She hasn't seen Hilda since then. She's probably laying low. You need to, after letting yourself go for a night. Tonight was proof of that.

 

Night has been darkening as she’s wandered, and it’s only when she’s standing under the yellow eye of a streetlight that she realizes where she is. Midge’s place. Or, Midge’s parent’s place. Whatever. She remembers that there’s a fire escape up the back, and she thinks she remembers where Midge’s room would be. Midge will make her feel better. Midge always does, even when she’s at her most self-absorbed. _I found two thousand dollars in my closet today_. Fuck, Midge. Know your audience.

It’s a nice apartment building. The fire escape doesn’t even rattle like loose teeth as she climbs. She’s pretty sure she’s never lived in an apartment that matches the quality of this fire escape; she knows immigrants who could fashion marvelous little rooms out of the landings alone. She shakes her head. Rich people! She stops at a window. It must be Midge’s but it’s too dark inside to tell if Midge is in or not. Only the faintest traces of furniture are visible, but if she strains her eyes she thinks she sees some lumps under the bedcovers. She knocks softly. The lumps stir. Good, Midge is home. She taps again on the window. A figure rises from the bed and a lamp flicks on, illuminating a person who is decidedly not Midge Maisel.

He is wearing a loose white wife-beater and his gray hair is sticking up at all angles. A chubby woman in a floral nightdress, her hair in curlers, blinks sleepily from the bed. The man stares at the window, and Susie freezes. His “What the hell?” is audible through the glass, and before she can move he opens the window sticks his head out.

“Who’re you? What are you doing out here?”

If there’s one thing that’s helped Susie in her life, it’s her ability to bullshit with confidence. “Sorry to bother you and your lovely wife, sir. I was hired to catch rats in the vicinity. Thought I saw one on your windowsill.” She isn’t carrying anything with her so she has nothing that can pass as a rat cage, and she’s clearly not wearing a uniform. Either the man is half-asleep or is more oblivious than Midge, because he seems to believe her.

“There’s a large family of rats that live behind the dumpsters. You can’t miss ‘em, they’re big as cats. Or houses.”

“I’ll get right on that. By the way, could you point me toward the Maisel’s apartment?”

The man squints at her. “They hire you?”

“Sure.”

He shrugs and points upward. “You missed ‘em by one floor.”

“Thank you.” She tips her cap and goes on her way. The window slides shut behind her. One floor up, Midge’s window is dark. Susie taps but no light appears. Midge must be out. Maybe she went to the Gaslight. Worry gnaws at Susie’s gut at the thought, but it’s taken her a few hours to walk here and she can’t afford a taxi back. Even if Midge did go, Susie’s confident she’ll be fine. Midge can talk her way out of any pickle. So Susie sits on the stairs, lights a cigarette, and waits. Luckily for her it’s a nice night, balmy and clear. She focuses on the smoke in her mouth and the occasional voices drifting from below, and tries her best to turn her thoughts from Hilda and the Gaslight. She doesn’t know how long she waits but eventually light floods Midge’s room and in walks Midge. She looks a bit haggard, a drooping flower in bright pink. Susie taps and Midge jumps, before she unlocks the window to stare at Susie.

“Susie? What are you doing here?”

Susie shrugs. “Just came by to say hello.”

Midge raises an elegant brow. “On the fire escape?”

“Yeah.”

She’s not offering any answers yet, and maybe Midge can sense that because she steps back and motions Susie inside. In the dim light Susie can see dark circles under Midge’s eyes. Even Midge’s hair looks weary, hanging in limp chunks instead of the usual sprightly curls. Yet, even in this mood, Midge’s strength shines through; her back is straight and her mouth set. It’s easy to forget that behind their frou frou clothes and petty neuroticisms the Maisels are strong. They are, after all, Jewish—in a much more involved way than Susie has ever been—and of course they will remember the war that ended a little over a decade ago, the deluge of Jewish refugees searching for communities to which they whispered horror stories. Midge’s parents will remember that, at least.

Now Midge puts her hands on her hips and glares at Susie.

“What?” Susie asks. Midge lightly stamps one heeled foot.

“Where were you?”

“I was here.”

Midge shakes her head and glares harder. “I went to the Gaslight. There were police everywhere, they wouldn’t let me in, it was all a mess, and I couldn’t find you. I went to your apartment and they didn’t know either. Though they did give me some fantastic cannoli…”

Cannoli notwithstanding, it occurs to Susie that she’s rarely seen Midge so upset. “Look, I’m fine, the Gaslight’ll be fine. We’ll be up and running by tomorrow night, you won’t even miss a gig.”

Midge doesn’t seem placated. She still has questions, and clearly she means to get answers. “Why were the police there? What happened?”

“It was a raid. They do that sometimes.”

“Why?”

Oh, boy. She’s not sure how much Midge knows or has guessed. Midge can be sharply observant when it comes to her own life, but regarding the outside world Midge can be astoundingly oblivious. “Well, you know, there are usually a lot of… gay people at clubs and bars… and there are laws against that sort of thing, so…”

Midge frowns. “Of course they’re gay, it’s a comedy club! How is that against the law?”

What. There’s no way Midge doesn’t know. Susie can’t wrap her head around the idea of Midge being so sheltered that she doesn’t _know_. “You—You really…? Okay. Jeez. You know by ‘gay’ I don’t mean ‘happy’, right? I mean… queer. You know?”

Midge is still looking at her blankly. Susie was not prepared for this level of explanation.

“ _Queer_ , Midge. Queer people. Like me.”

God help her, she’s going to throw the lamp across the room if this doesn’t go well.

Midge furrows her brows. “…Weird?” she offers, her voice small.

She needs to make this relatable to Midge. That’s how Midge understands things, in seeing how they are similar or different to her life. Susie didn’t know Midge when she was with Joel, but she can guess what she was like. “Okay. You remember being in love with Joel, right? When you were first together and the thought of him made you all moony so that you did stupid things? Because you were in love with Joel, who is a man.”

“Yes?”

“For me, I don’t get all moony and stupid over men. I like women. Females. Females are my Joel! Hell, that sounded a lot worse than it did in my head.”

But Midge is smiling a bit, like she might laugh, so Susie’s unsure if Midge understands. Midge should look scandalized, she thinks, or maybe confused or at least surprised.

“You get what I’m saying?”

Midge nods. She’s still smiling. “I get it, Susie.”

“You sure? Sometimes people freak out about this kind of thing.”

“I’m okay. Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m great. Just peachy.”

Midge is smiling at her and dammit, she can’t help but smile back. Moony and stupid indeed. They’re smiling at each other and now it’s just going to get awkward because she doesn’t know what to say now. She’s not used to easy acceptance. Maybe it’s better to leave now, before it gets weird.

“Okay. I’m gonna go then. Nice chatting with you.”

“What?!” cries Midge. “Where are you going?!”

“I’ll figure it out, don’t worry about it.”

“You were sleeping at the Gaslight. Your apartment is full. Where will you go?”

“Midge—”

“Stay here.”

Sometimes she underestimates Midge. Thinks of Midge as self-absorbed and ignorant, when Midge is so much more than that. She should know better by now, but she’s still surprised by the offer. She’s never gotten a gay vibe from Midge; Midge’s face now is open and innocent, and Susie is sure Midge means the offer with sincerest friendship only. She hesitates. “Do you remember _anything_ we just talked about?”

Midge throws her hands up. “Oh, Susie. I don’t care that you’re gay! You need somewhere to sleep! You’re my _friend_!” She says the last three words like it’s so simple, like they can solve any problem. Maybe for Midge they are and they can. Susie knows it’s not so easy.

“I can’t just—“

“Didn’t you have sleepovers with your friends when you were a child? It’s just like that! I have some clothes you can borrow—”

“There’s no way I could fit into any of your clothes!”

“They’re not mine, they’re Joel’s—”

“JOEL’S?!”

Midge hushes her. “I say Joel’s but I mean I bought them for him.” She blushes. “For when he comes over.”

“Joel’s a pretty scrawny guy, Midge.”

Midge pouts. “Fine. Stay in your clothes. At least take off your shoes and jacket. I don’t want my coverlets getting dirty.”

“ _Your_ coverlets? If I’m in your bed where are you gonna sleep?”

Midge blinks. “My bed.”

“You’re joking.”

“There’s not really anywhere else to sleep. The couch is awful, I’ve tried it. Why are you getting upset about _sleeping_?”

Wow, this girl is innocent. But Susie’s never claimed to be proud, and she’ll take what she can get. “Fine. Only because you insisted.”

So Midge goes to change her clothes, wash her face, and put her hair in curlers, and Susie sits on Midges bed and marvels at the direction the night has taken. Midge comes back in, fresh-faced, and after some navigating they manage to arrange themselves comfortably on the bed. Midge claims the side closer to the window, leaving Susie the side next to the wall. They shuffle a bit; Susie is unused to sharing a bed, and Midge’s curlers keep poking her forehead. Midge turns off the lamp. In the dark Susie listens to their breathing, tries to get used to two sets of breath in the same bed. She doubts she’ll actually be able to sleep tonight. They lie awkward silence for a bit before Susie feels compelled to speak.

“Oh, yeah, Midge. Almost forgot to tell you. Stay away from the dumpsters downstairs, they’re brimming with house-sized rats.”

“…I’ll do that.”

Another moment of quiet.

“Good night, Susie.”

“Go the fuck to sleep, Midge.”

Midge snorts, and she sleeps.


End file.
